


The Spaces Between

by chibiMuffin999



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibiMuffin999/pseuds/chibiMuffin999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glimpses of Bucky's recovery in short one-shot drabbles. This story literally fills in the spaces between what you see in "Winter's End". Not necessarily in chronological order. Non-slash. <br/>There's really only one chapter that's graphically violent, but I added the warning anyway, just to be safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another fanfiction.net crosspost. The original fanfiction.net post can be found here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10294864/1/The-Spaces-Between

It's been a rough night.  
Bucky's memory is still patchy at best, and he can't sleep without waking up screaming. Steve won't sleep if Bucky can't.

They sit in the dark, on couch cushions Steve insists they pull onto the floor for some reason. He says they used to do this when they were kids. Bucky accepts it, even if he doesn't quite understand it.

"What was I like?" Bucky wants to know. "Before."

"You were great." Steve tells him, quietly. "Real upstanding guy. Always looking out for the little guy. ...That was me."

Bucky snorts.  
"I saw the pictures, but I still don't believe it. You're bigger than  _I_  am."

"Scout's honor." Steve holds up two fingers, and Bucky surprises himself by chuckling at it.  
"You were really popular." Steve goes on. "Always were. The girls loved you. You'd keep trying to set me up with somebody and they'd just want to go out with you instead."

"Except Agent Carter… Peggy Carter." Bucky says suddenly. There's a light in his eyes that wasn't there a moment ago, and it's clear something has come back.

"... Yeah. … Except Peggy." Steve's expression shifts, and though Bucky is proud of having remembered, he's sorry he said anything. The woman he thinks he remembers would be very very old by now.  _70 years plus around… he'd give her 25, and - Oh…._

He knows Steve never got a chance to take her dancing…

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

"You guys should have put me down when you had the chance." He hears Bucky say in the next room. Steve freezes where he is and listens.  
Sam Wilson is here, trying to help Bucky with a boatload of PTSD leftover from his time as the Winter Soldier. Bucky is having a hard time of it.

"Why is that?" Sam's voice is steady and careful and gentle.  
Steve is suddenly glad he's not the one trying to talk his friend through this, because he knows he'd be awful at it.

"I'm dangerous." Bucky says matter-of-factly, and he isn't wrong. "Steve thinks I don't notice, but I do. I forget things, but I'm not stupid."

"Notice what?" Sam asks. He kindly avoids the discussion of who is or isn't dangerous. Nothing helpful can come of that conversation.

"The bruises." Bucky says, almost too casually. "He's fine when I fall asleep and then I wake up and he's got a black eye and a limp." Steve hears his friend's breath catch and feels guilty for eavesdropping. He can't quite bring himself to stop though.  
"I do things without- I  _hurt_  people. I hurt the people who care about me. I kick the crap out of my best friend every other night and I don't even know I'm doing it. I'm rabid and… I'm dangerous." He seems to run out of steam there and falls silent.

"Look… Bucky, you're not the first guy to feel this way." Sam says. The couch creaks as he sits down. "You don't want to hurt anybody, that's easy to see."

Bucky sighs. "Sometimes I do."

"It's going to take time. We all have bad days. Sometimes bad weeks... months. You have it worse than some other guys do, 'cause they literally took your choice away. But nobody's gonna do that to you now. You can choose to get through all the shit in your way and get your life back, or you can let it eat you alive... But the point is it's up to you."

Bucky doesn't answer.

"I'm not saying it's gonna be easy. It may  _never_  be easy. But you're a tough guy, and I think you can do it."


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Bucky has gone catatonic again.

Steve sits on the edge of his bed, helpless. Bucky stares through him, his lips forming silent, frantic words in what Steve guesses must be Russian. He sets a hand on Bucky's shoulder, though he knows it won't help, and tries to remember that his friend is still in there. Bucky shudders a few minutes later, knocking the hand away, but nothing else changes.

Four hours pass, and Bucky hasn't moved. He barely blinks, barely breathes. Just stares into the dark, empty room - glassy eyes wide.

Steve finds himself almost longing for the Bucky who'd kicked him through a coffee-table the night before. That version had been angry and violent…. and Steve is still smarting from where the splintered wood caught his shoulder… but at least it had been Bucky. This version just reminds him of a corpse.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

"Just try it." Steve tells him. Bucky is dubious. "You used to love this stuff."

Bucky looks at the strange transparent gel in the enormous bowl Steve is holding. It wobbles when he moves and reflects like glass. Steve tells him it's cherry flavored. He raises an eyebrow.  
"It's plastic. I'm not going to eat plastic."

"It's jello." Steve tells him firmly, taking a spoonful and eating it, to show him how it's done.

Bucky still isn't convinced, but if Steve wants him to try it, he'll try it.  
He pops a spoonful of wiggly red gel into his mouth, and his eyes widen as the stuff dissolves on his tongue.  
A thousand fleeting moments in a little brick kitchen flit through his mind - perched on a stool next to a stick-legged blonde boy with a black eye.  
He eats most of the bowl on his own and ends up feeling sick for half the night, but Bucky has decided that he likes this whole 'desserts' concept.

Steve says they'll try chocolate pudding next time.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

"How do you get used to it all?" Bucky asks one night when they've mutually agreed that sleeping is highly overrated.

"All of what?"

"All of  _everything_." Bucky says, flopping back onto folded arms against the floor. "Nothing is like I remember it... when I remember it at all."

"It takes some getting used to." Steve says carefully. "Stark used to rib me all the time for not knowing how a cell phone worked. And I found out the hard way what parts of the internet I shouldn't look at." Steve makes a mental note not to introduce Bucky to some of the sites he stumbled across when he first woke up.

"It's not so much the tech…" Bucky says, and that makes sense. He'd have to keep up with the latest developments in killing, at a minimum, to be a good assasin.

"It's…" Bucky gropes for the right words around the holes in his memory. "For a while every time I went to sleep, the world was a completely different place by the time I woke up, but at least then someone was waiting to tell me what to do. I didn't have to think, so who cares if everything's changed? All I had to pay attention to was my missions… the rest was just background. But, that's not how  _people_  live… is it?"

Steve shakes his head, no. He doesn't know what else to say.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

"You're the bravest guy I know." Steve tells him, though Bucky is trembling and white faced.  
Bucky just shakes his head. He's afraid to go to sleep and electronics make him nervous. That's not brave, he insists.  
"You are." Steve insists right back. It's not just hero-worship.

Bucky was the first person who ever stood up for him: tiny pathetic little Steve. Nobody else would.

Bucky hadn't really wanted to go to war. That had been Steve's dream. Bucky had just seen the writing on the wall and known he'd have to go sooner or later. He'd followed Steve into the enlistment office to do it on his own terms.

Bucky had been captured, tortured, experimented on, and left for dead. No one would have blamed him if he'd run and never looked back, but that wasn't Bucky Barnes. Even as the base exploded around them, even after all he'd been through already: It was never a question to him that he was not leaving without Steve. He hadn't even considered it.

Bucky had followed him, without complaint, through 30 miles of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe, with god only knew what chemicals in his blood, after weeks of torture. But he'd stood by Steve's side, sick as he was, until he was sure his friend was safe.

Bucky had gone back into battle in spite of it all, because Steve was going, and that was that.

Bucky had fallen from a train because Steve couldn't catch him in time. He'd lost his arm, been brainwashed, used as a weapon, and tortured for over 70 years, and still… wounded himself, he had pulled Steve from the Potomac and dragged him to shore, not even sure who he was rescuing.

Bucky Barnes was the bravest man Steve had ever heard of, and he wasn't about to let anyone, not even Bucky himself, say otherwise.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

"Hi, I'm a friend of Steve's."

Steve knows this is going to be awkward, but it's too late now. They've only just arrived at the Avengers Tower and he hasn't had a chance to make any introductions yet. All of the Avengers have seen Bucky in varying states of consciousness and memory - but to him, these are all new faces.  
Before Steve can stop him, Bucky has gone over to Natasha, reclining comfortably across the ultra-fancy modern couch of the common room. She is texting busily, long legs draped across the seats. She looks up at Bucky like she can't begin to figure out what the hell he thinks he's doing.

"We've met." She goes back to her phone without another word.

Bucky blinks, but he's persistent.  
"Sorry, I'm not so great at remembering things these days-"

"I know." Her fingers are flying over the phone keyboard.

"If you'd like to remind me over a cup of coffee, we could-" He pauses as she fixes him with the coldest, most terrifying stare Steve has ever seen in his life. Even he backs up a few paces.

"Not interested. Move along, Tin Man." The little silver arrow around her neck catches the light when she returns to her phone.

Bucky retreats, thoroughly confused.  
"What the heck was  _that_  about?"

"That's Natasha. You… sort of shot her…" Steve says,

"Oh…" Bucky supposes he probably should've put red hair and angry eyes together with Steve's description of the Project Insight incident.

"And she's pretty attached to Fury, who you… sorta also shot. ...Sorry."

Bucky swears under his breath for a few moments, then sighs, mentally collecting himself.  
"It's not your fault." He forces himself to take a couple of deep breaths and let it go. It's one of the techniques Sam is teaching him to control the residual anger. "Just- is there anybody else here I may or may not have tried to kill; before I make an ass of myself again?"

"I don't think so. I mean... not unless you're the one that killed Howard Sta-" He pauses, noticing Bucky's eyes have gone wide.

"Tony… Your friend's name is Tony  _Stark_ …  _Anthony Stark_ …"

"Oh my god, Bucky, I was just kidding...Did you actually-?"

"It's not like I wanted to!"

"' 'Wanted to' what?" Tony says, appearing from the kitchen, behind them.

* * *

"Look, I know Frosty the Snowman killed my parents. You don't have to dance around it." Tony says, popping open a can of soda while Bucky is talking to Dr. Banner in the next room. Steve chokes on the soda he's just started on, trying not to spit it down his front. He didn't really expect Tony to buy their hasty excuses of "nothing!" but he's taken aback at how calmly Stark just puts this forward.

"You… wait what?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D intel all over the internet, remember Cap'? I knew long before you found the snow queen over there."

"Tony… I'm so sorry, I don't know what to-"

"It's fine, Rogers." Tony sighs, scrubbing one hand over his face. He looks tired. "I mean, it's not fine, but… I can't really blame the kid."

"That's… not what I'd have expected you to say, to be honest."

"You wanna know the dirty, ugly truth? I was all set to suit up and kick his ass the first time you brought him over here. I might not've liked my dad, but he was still my dad, y'know?  
I wanted to beat the guy that killed him down so bad, but then instead of super soldier bad-ass, you bring in this scruffy 20 something  _kid_ , crying his head off, scared of the whole world, looking like hell." Tony shrugs. "He cried for two days - _two fucking_ _ **days**_ \- because he spazzed out and pushed you into a door. How do you stay mad at somebody that's already that busted up inside? Whatever they did to his head is way worse than anything I was gonna do to his face. I just felt… bad for him, y'know?"

"Yeah." Steve says, looking towards the door between him and his best friend. "Yeah, I do."


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

"Do you remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?" Bucky says abruptly one morning while they are just sitting down for coffee, and Steve freezes in place. He can almost feel the mountain wind whipping against his uniform, hear the zip-line creaking. The ravine below echoing with the approach of a speeding train. …  
After a moment, he realizes Bucky is staring at him, looking a bit stricken. He's curled small and tense in his chair, worried he's done something wrong.

Steve clears his throat, making himself sit down and pour out a cup  
"Yeah…" he manages after a moment. He forces a small smile onto his face. "And I threw up. Ruined your good shoes."

"Yeah…" Bucky says uncertainly. "And I- I bought you a soda to make up for it…?"

Steve's smile slowly creeps into his eyes. "You did. And I threw up all over again."

"Couldn't hold your cola?" There it is. The flicker of Bucky Barnes he remembers. There's a small, uneasy smirk hovering just at the corner of Bucky's lips.

"It was fizzy. Give me a break." Steve gripes. Bucky's face eases when he recognizes that this is ok. They are friends, poking fun. He has not stepped out of bounds again.

"You could put away cotton-candy like nobody's business though." Bucky settles naturally back into big-brother mode, teasing and relaxed, easing back in his chair as the tension ebbs out of his shoulders again. "I never could figure out where you were putting it. You weren't much bigger than the stick it was on to begin with."

"It's deceptively fluffy!" Steve says defensively. Bucky snorts and almost chokes on his coffee. "It's fluffy and  _delicious._ " Steve amends, watching Bucky's lips quirk behind the mug. "Besides, you owed me after you made me throw up my french fries."

"Not my fault you and gravity didn't get along." Bucky pounds his chest lightly to get the coffee down. " 'Course you and movement in general didn't get along, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised."

"You're such a jerk, Buck."

"Yeah, yeah, don't cry in your cup, Rogers." Bucky grins at him and pushes the coffee pot across the table to him. Steve rolls his eyes and refills his mug. It's about twice the size of a normal one, but he prefers it that way. It takes a lot of coffee to fuel a super-soldier some mornings.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Bucky is uneasy about using the training pool with Steve, for obvious reasons. Every time Steve dives, Bucky has to fight the compulsion to go in after him. Every time Steve goes under the surface, he can see a tattered Captain America plummeting into the Potomac. There's something else there too, something buried too deep to reach just yet. It bothers him, but he can't quite place it.  
He sits by the side of the water, trailing one foot over the surface and watching the ripples, watching the others.

Natasha is repeatedly dunking Tony over his sputtering protests, and Clint and Sam are in the middle of an intensive squirt-gun battle that has absolutely nothing to do with training. Bruce has decided to read beside the pool for once, and though they've splashed his book once or twice, he's studiously ignoring the 'juvenile' behavior of his teammates.

Thor's upstairs watching some kind of 'reality show' on the TV. Bucky's glad of it. Lightning and water are just a bad combination, and though Bucky finds him friendly and welcoming, he also finds him a bit overwhelming.

Steve is straying too close to Natasha's dunk-a-thon and he's likely to be next, Bucky notices, absently.

The atmosphere in the room is relaxed and easy and fun, but he can't seem to get the steel out of his spine or the unease out of his mind. It's familiar. But why?  
It's not until Steve gets dragged under by Natasha's expert hand and comes up coughing up water that the world explodes around him and Bucky's sixteen again, standing on a pier overlooking the Hudson bay.

* * *

" _You sure about this?" He says. "I understand if you don't wanna do it."_

_Steve is not a swimmer. He likes water well enough, but he can barely dog-paddle without getting winded. Bucky would normally rag on him for backing out of a dare... but this time he's honestly hoping Steve will. This just seems like asking for trouble._

_"Yeah… Yeah, I can do it." Steve says, looking down at the water, eyebrows lowered in his trademark stubborn resolution. Bucky knows there's nothing on earth that will stop him from going through with the dive now, so he doesn't try. Steve always digs his heels in harder when you argue with him._

_"Alright." He says, backing up and giving his friend room. "Knock yourself out, kid."  
_

_He isn't expecting Steve to take him literally.  
_

He's dimly aware that someone is talking to him, that his face has gone slack and his eyes are probably staring vacantly, but he's not really present enough to care. A 15 year old Steve has vanished beneath the water and he hasn't come back up.

" _Steve?" Bucky leans over the edge of the pier, but there's no sign of the scrawny twit anywhere. "Steve, c'mon man, this isn't funny. Don't screw with me, pal." There's silence. Not even the sound of splashing.  
_ " _Shit."_

_Before he even realizes he's made the decision, he's diving in, body slicing through the water smooth and sharp as a knife. After searching several fruitless moments, he starts to panic. How long can a guy stay under before he drowns? He's about to go up for air when he finally spots blonde hair drifting in the current._

_There you are..._

"Bucky, c'mon, say something…" There's a hand shaking his shoulder.  
He can't reply. He's busy.

_He drags the limp, thin body to the bank, arms feeling like lead. If Steve had an asthma attack underwater, he's probably done for and Bucky doesn't know what he'll do in that case. He doesn't let himself think about it.  
_ _He learned some basic first-aid and how to help someone to breathe after the first attack he witnessed. He laces his fingers across Steve's chest and pulses his full weight into it. If he bruises the kid, it'll serve him right for scaring Bucky half to death._

_Steve gags and a weak trickle of water escapes his mouth. Bucky heaves him up  
_ " _Come on you stupid little bastard, cough it up." He growls, aware that his heart is pounding. "Don't you dare die on me."  
_ _Steve chokes and sputters and coughs and finally throws up a mixture of lunch and filthy bay water next to Bucky's shoes. He's conscious but Bucky can see the start of an asthma attack coming on. He sighs, but takes it in stride. What else is new?_  


 _Rogers is a walking disaster, he thinks resignedly, pulling Steve into his chest and taking deep breaths, the way he was taught.  
_ " _C'mon kid, stay with me." He mutters, while Steve wheezes and chokes into his shoulder. "Breathe in, breathe out. Focus Steve!" He knows he's probably not supposed to shout at the patient, but he's scared and it's making him angry._

_They sit this way for 10 long, tense minutes. Bucky breathing in, breathing out, Steve trying to match him. Finally, the painful gasps melt into uncomfortable wheezing, to sporadic coughing, to Steve, panting but breathing steadily, flopped bonelessly into Bucky's shoulder._

_"I take it back…" Steve mutters. "I can't do it."_

_"Damn right, you little twit." Bucky mutters, but he hasn't let go of his friend yet. He's not quite ready to. "You scared the crap outta me, and now we're both soaked. My mom's gonna have a fit."_

_"Sorry, Buck." Steve looks genuinely repentant, coughing into his arm. "Tell her it was my fault."_

_"Yeah, she'll know it was." Bucky sighs, finally pushing Steve away and helping him to his feet. "It always is."_

_"Not -" cough "-not always."_

_"Rogers, you're my best friend. I love ya like a brother, but damn are you a walking pile of trouble sometimes." Bucky wrings out the dripping hem of his shirt, and shakes the excess water off of his arms. It's a lost cause, but it's better than nothing. He glances at Steve, who looks absolutely mortified and he can't help but soften a bit._   
_"C'mon, brat, let's get you home. Last thing you need is to get sick."_

_Steve nods and follows him like a puppy._   
_"But don't you ever pull that shit on me again, you hear me?" Bucky says, though they both know full well Steve's to stubborn to do leave a challenge alone. "Promise me I'm not gonna have to pull your wheezy ass out of anymore rivers?"_

_"I'll try." Steve shrugs._

_It's the best he's going to get._

* * *

" _Bucky!"_

2014 snaps back into focus like a rubber-band and suddenly he's nose to nose with Steve crouched in front of him, dripping water everywhere, and staring at him like he's just come back from the dead again. He wonders how long he was out of it, though he can't imagine it was more than a few minutes.  
Bucky looks back at him, still absorbing the memory, then suddenly, abruptly, starts to laugh. It's loud and completely inappropriate, and he knows it but he just can't help himself. He's not sure if he or Steve is the more surprised by it.

"I told you… the last time I fished you out of a river... never to do it again. But do you ever listen to me?" He manages, finally. The small crowd around him just stares, but after a moment, the razor-sharp tension in Steve's body abruptly drops.

"I almost forgot about that." He says softly.

"That makes two of us." Bucky smirks crookedly at him. "But you're not off the hook for doin' it anyway, Rogers."

"You boys wanna run by me what the hell just happened there?" Tony pipes up from behind him, towel draped over his shoulders.

"It's a long story." They answer together, and Bucky can't help it. He'd dissolves into laughter again, and this time Steve joins him.

 


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

_**Author's note: This chapter contains some feels.** _

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Steve halts in the process of dragging himself up the stairs. Bucky's standing at the top, arms crossed, looking sleepy and a little annoyed. He's not allowed to go out into the field yet, but he's been showing promise of getting there soon. Steve had been hoping Bucky wouldn't hear him come in.

"Broke my foot on the mission." Steve shrugs in an awkward attempt at nonchalance, arms braced where he's just hoisted himself onto the second step of a dozen or two. He's still wearing his uniform, though it's torn in a few places and there's a definite singe mark on one shoulder. "It's already set and everything." He adds, gesturing to the splinted foot, "Should be fine in a couple'a days."

Bucky snorts at this, but says nothing. He's irritated that Steve's hurt himself  _again_ and as usual is acting like it's no big deal. Like Bucky should pretend it's nothing too.

 _Stubborn little twit.  
_ _...Stubborn BIG twit_  he reminds himself regretfully.

As Steve starts to heave himself up another step, he bangs his toe into the railing and swears, collapsing a bit against the wall. Bucky rolls his eyes. Enough is enough. He starts down the stairs to meet him.  
"Not if you keep smacking it into stuff, it won't be. Would it kill ya to just ask for help now and then?" He holds out a hand for Steve to grasp, but it's ignored.

"Don't need it." Steve grunts, carefully rebalancing himself. "And I didn't wanna wake you up."

"Jeesus…" Bucky mutters. "You're just as stubborn as you ever were." He rolls his eyes as he ducks down to throw a shoulder under Steve's ribs and hoist him unceremoniously up onto his back. He turns, carefully tucking Steve's indignantly flailing legs under the metal arm, and starts back up the stairs with a super-soldier draped across his shoulders. "And I wasn't asleep. Like I was gonna go to bed while you're still out getting shot at and blown up, ya little twerp? I've been watching  _The Voice_  reruns for like 4 hours."

It's slow going with 250 pounds of uncooperative Steve draped over his back, but Bucky's hauled Steve up many a flight of stairs before, in another life. He's not about to admit that it's gotten a lot harder since Steve grew a foot and gained 100 pounds, even if Bucky's been enhanced too. He just sweats a bit and keeps going.  
Steve has given up on flailing and settled instead for propping his elbows against Bucky's shoulder, the better to level an annoyed glare in his friend's direction.  
"You didn't have to wait up for me -  _shouldn't_ \- have waited up for me." He grumbles. "I'd have made it up fine on my own."  
He's sulking - the old Steve coming through as he hasn't in years. It's amazing what being an invalid again does to Steve's usually even temper.

"Sure, right." Bucky tosses a sidelong glance at him. "And, what, I'd just sleep through you bangin' up the stairs like a clydesdale?"  
Steve looks away and doesn't answer.  
"You'd just have hurt yourself worse, you know." Bucky says, shifting Steve a bit higher over his right shoulder to get a better grip. "Hopping up a flight of stairs on one foot."

"I was fine-"

"No you were not." Bucky interrupts, pausing in mid-step. He cranes his head, trying to meet Steve's averted eyes.  
"What is it with you not wanting to let me help you anymore? I might not remember everything, but I remember how we used to be. We used to be brothers, Steve. Even after you were Captain America, I always had your back. Why don't you want me there anymore?"

Steve still won't look at him. He's quiet and a lot of the fight has drained out of him. They stand in the dark stairwell for an expectant moment before Bucky let's out a soft, disappointed breath and starts up towards the apartment again.

Steve finally speaks as they're nearing the landing.  
"It's not that I don't want your help, Buck…" His voice is so quiet that Bucky almost doesn't hear him. It's practically a whisper. "I just... don't wanna lean on you, when you've got your own problems. A busted foot will heal in a week. What you're dealing with-"

"Oh  _shut_ _ **up**_." Bucky cuts in fiercely. He pauses as they clear the top step, slinging Steve carefully down from his back. As irritated as he is, he's careful of the injured foot.  
They stand there in the dimly lit hallway, one flickering fluorescent bulb humming into the silence. Bucky is holding on perhaps a bit too tightly to his friend's wrist. This has been brewing for weeks and they need to settle it. Now. Tonight.

"Look, Steve-" Bucky sighs, dropping his eyes to the metal fist curled against his hip. "I've been broken for a while. I know that. ...HYDRA did a number on me. But I'm not that hair-trigger mess anymore." He raises his face to find Steve watching him with an unreadable expression. There's a tension in the air, like he wants to do something, but he doesn't know how.  
"Whatever mush they made outta my head is turning back into brains and I'm as much me as I'm ever gonna be." The metal fingers curl and uncurl against his side in a steady rhythm.  
For a moment, it's like they're scrappy underfed teenagers again, standing in a familiar dirty alley in Brooklyn. Steve's small and bruised and limping. Bucky's trying to get it through Steve's thick stubborn skull that he can let somebody in. Let somebody help him now and then.  
...But this isn't Brooklyn. Their Brooklyn no longer exists. They'll never be those people again. He's learning that more and more every day. They have to build from the ashes. He wishes Steve would see that too.

"Yeah, I was a mess when I first got here." He's aware this may be one hell of an understatement, but that's beside the point. "I know I was. I know how many times I sent you flying over a bad dream and I still hate myself for it sometimes…" Curl, uncurl, curl, uncurl.  
Uncurl.  
"But I'm a lot better now, and I want to help you like I used to, if you'd just - _let-_  me!" The last bit comes out something like a growl and he realizes that he's lurched into Steve's personal space as he says it. He's so frustrated, has wanted to get this out for so long. He can be Steve's big brother again, he knows he can, even if Steve still towers over him. If Steve would just let him in…

The next thing he knows, he's face first in Steve's shoulder and powerful arms are half crushing him in a massive bear-hug.  
"You know there's nobody in this world I'd rather have on my side than you, Buck." Steve mutters into his hair. "I'm crap at this. I'm sorry." He sags just a little into Bucky. " I don't mean to treat you like you're gonna shatter, I just don't know what else to do."

"Trust me." Bucky says simply, and he can feel the ragged breath Steve lets out through his whole body.

"I do trust you." Steve says, backing up awkwardly on one foot, and bracing his hands on Bucky's shoulders. Steve's never distinguished between the left and right, flesh and metal. He doesn't start now. "I will always trust you." His eyes look suspiciously shiny, but Bucky wisely decides not to comment. He's not so sure his own are any drier." I'll try to be better about proving it. … But I kind of suck at this." Steve adds lamely, with a sheepish half-smile.

"Start by not being so damned stubborn and we'll go from there." Bucky offers, with a weak smile of his own.

"Tell you what, you promise never to tell any of the others that you carried me up the stairs like some cheesy movie princess, and I'll do my best."  
He puts his arm out and Bucky pulls it over his shoulder, letting Steve lean his weight against him.

"Conditions, conditions." Bucky grumbles lightly, slowly helping him to the door.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

_**Author's note: Reader Beware - this chapter is intense and contains some violence. Also contains copious feels.** _

* * *

Bucky is screaming. He doesn't hear it. Doesn't feel the hands trying to shake him awake. All he sees is the child, staring up at him.

* * *

The mission is complete. His prey never had a chance to scream, to run. The Target hadn't even realized he was being hunted. Infiltrating the house was pitifully easy for a professional ghost. This man should have hired better security. One bullet from behind, and down they went; a pool of red spreading beneath a punctured skull. It should have been an easy-in-easy-out assignment, but something has gone wrong.

The Soldier has been seen.

A little girl stares up at him from the doorway, and she has seen it all, he knows. He raises his weapon, prepared to silence her. Her eyes widen. They are blue for a moment, under a fringe of blonde, and the gun falters.  
He blinks and they are brown again, mousy curls pulled tightly back into pigtails above her ears. The thin frightened face doesn't change, though, and his fingers don't respond when he orders them to pull the trigger. She takes a timid step back, shaking, hand over her mouth.  
"Don't scream." He grates out. He never speaks on missions. Why is he speaking now? He steadies his aim.  
He would put the shot right between her enormous frightened eyes if he could pull the trigger now, but for reasons he couldn't begin to explain, he simply can't. "Just leave."

She turns and runs blindly.  
A sharp crack echoes from the hallway and she goes down in a spray of red. The wide brown eyes stare blindly as she falls.

A HYDRA handler steps around the corner and glares at him. There is crimson spattered on the man's hands and the Soldier can't help but stare at it.  
This child's death should mean nothing. It was only a life. But he feels abruptly empty and wrong and he doesn't know what this means or where it comes from. The handler has crossed the room and strikes him hard across the face. He almost lashes out, but he is never to attack his handlers. He takes the blow in silence. He can feel the blood it leaves behind, smeared across his skin. Branding him.

* * *

"Why did you leave a witness?" The Leader is asking him. He does not respond. He doesn't know. "Why. Did. You. Leave. A.  _Witness?_ " The Leader hisses, jerking the Soldier's chin toward him, forcing the Soldier to look at him.

"I … was not ordered to eliminate the girl." He answers quietly, dropping his eyes. Weapons do not meet the eyes of their superiors.

"You never leave witnesses." The Leader says. It is half a statement and half an order. "So I will ask you again: Why did Agent Hanson have to put her down  _for_  you?" There is a dangerous snarl in that voice. Pain is coming, no matter what he answers. He knows this.

"I don't know."

He knows also that this is the wrong answer. It is not what the Leader wants, but it is true. He is not to lie to his superiors. The Leader roughly shoves his face away, disgusted with him.

"Wipe him. And make sure you get it all this time." He coldly orders the two agents who stand behind him, his eyes still fixed on the Soldier's downcast face. "I never want this thing to hesitate again, for any reason. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

He doesn't remember being wiped before, but he feels somehow certain that it is worse this time than it has ever been. His mind explodes into red and fire. Brown eyes turn blue, gazing up at him from a small thin face. These too dissolve into red, disintegrate and are torn away.

When he finally blacks out in a haze of pain, there is nothing left but the searing white-hot agony and the darkness. He is an empty shell again.

* * *

Bucky wakes up slowly, gradually. He feels hot tears staining his face, and almost expects to be crusted in half-melted ice and weak from the cryo-tube. It takes a moment to remember that he has been free of HYDRA for nearly 6 months. They will never freeze him again.

He shifts and abruptly realizes that his head is cradled in someone's lap. They are gently stroking his hair and speaking to him in Russian. It is Natasha's lap. He had not even registered the sound of her voice until now.

"Вы в безопасности. Вы с друзьями. Остановитесь.  _[You are safe. You are with friends. Be still.]_ "

They are alone in the common room of the Avengers Tower. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he's certain she was not in the room when he did. She looks down at him -a staggering, understanding softness in her face- and he just can't meet her eyes. He stares blankly into the back of the couch instead, but the images in his mind play over and over there.

He closes his eyes, breath ragged and rushed, but he keeps seeing her fall - the little girl with the thin face and the big brown eyes. He understands now, as he couldn't then, why he hadn't been able to pull the trigger.

The little girl had been nothing but a target. A smaller version of the mission. But then he'd seen something in her face and everything had shifted.  
For a brief moment, he'd remembered. He wasn't supposed to remember, and he'd been blindsided by the weight of it. He wasn't been allowed to have memories for a reason.

For a brief moment, a blank target was replaced with a human face. The seven-year-old face of Steven Grant Rogers of Brooklyn, New York, to be exact- and something long since lost had slotted back into place.

Instead of a target, he'd suddenly seen a scared little girl standing over her father's corpse, his own weapon prepared to kill her for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Something in him had rebelled; crawling, dirty and broken, out from under his programming. For just a moment, Bucky Barnes had stolen back control.  
It hadn't been much. He was too beaten down then to fight back for long. It was only just enough.

_She's just a kid…. Just a kid. What the hell am I doing?_

He'd told her to run, knowing the others were in the house. He might as well have killed her himself for all the safety running would offer her. He'd taken the coward's way out.  
He'd almost swear she was staring accusingly at him, lying there on the floor.  
 _Why did you let this happen?_  
There is red burning into his skin where her blood touched him. He winces as Natasha's hand brushes the spot, pulling away from her.

"They killed her." He says, eyes drifting vacantly up to meet hers, not caring if the statement makes any sense. "They killed her and I did nothing."

Natasha doesn't ask. She knows better than to believe she needs the details to understand. She has plenty of ugly secrets of her own to keep her up at night.

"Вы не могли бы сделать ничего.  _[You couldn't have done anything.]_ " She says softly, still in Russian. Bucky flinches when he realizes he understands her perfectly. She notices.  
"You were just a puppet to them, Barnes." She says, transitioning smoothly into English as if nothing has changed. "You had no way to fight back. Whatever happened, you couldn't have stopped it."

He squeezes his eyes shut again, with a pained intake of breath and without realizing he's done it, curls his human arm around her waist. She strokes her fingers through his hair, a surprisingly gentle touch, and he huddles into her, not certain if he's more skittish or comforted when her other arm comes down to cradle his broad back. For such a small woman, she projects a surprisingly powerful aura of safety. He clings to it desperately.

"I get it." She says softly. He knows she's telling the truth. Somehow he just knows. "You want me to call Rogers?" Her voice is gentle and easy, her fingers never falter as they card through his tangled hair. "He's on a mission, but they're probably just prepping right now." Natasha adds, encouragingly.

Bucky considers a moment, but shakes his head. He's bled on Steve more than enough times already.

"Wilson's probably home." She offers, though she suspects where this is headed. He shakes his head again.

"If… if it's ok with you, can I just stay here? With you?"

"Yeah." She says softly, watching his eyes drift closed again. "Of course you can. As long as you want."

* * *

Clint wanders in a few hours later to find Natasha lounging casually on the couch, Bucky Barnes curled like a child in her lap, as much as he can fit, and sound asleep. Her hands are gently sliding in and out of his hair.

She glances up at Barton, completely unconcerned by his open-mouthed staring.

"Are you-?" He gestures between her and the man on her lap. "Y'know…?"

"Is it any of your business either way?"

"It could be."

She raises an eyebrow and he drops the subject.

"Fine, fine. Point taken. What did I miss…?"

"Nothing." She says with a cat-like smile. "Just having some bonding time."

"... Uh… huh." Clint crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway. "How do  _I_  sign up for some 'bonding time'?"

"You're a pig, Barton." Natasha tells him, but with a smile.


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

It's been over a year and Bucky is approaching the point of full recovery. He rarely wakes up screaming anymore, and when he does, he doesn't throw furniture or people across the room. He's charming and easy-going most of the time, and he's ready to go out into the world and explore what it has to offer him again

In this case, it's dancing.

* * *

"Steve, grab your coat." Bucky announces one afternoon, tossing a newspaper across his friend's lap. The page is folded back to the local event section. One heading is circled in red.

"Swing dance lessons, all levels welcome" Steve reads, raising an eyebrow. "Learn the Jitterbug, West Coast, Charleston and more..."  
Bucky is grinning expectantly when he looks up, and it's so familiar that Steve almost forgets to protest the idea of making an utter fool of himself trying to dance. "You know I never learned to do this stuff." he says doubtfully. Bucky pulls him to his feet.

"That's kind of the point of dance lessons, kid." He says patiently, plucking Steve's jacket off a hook and tossing it to him. "How are we ever gonna find you a nice girl if you can't take her out dancing?"

"... I don't think girls dance like this anymore." Steve mutters, but he's pulling his shoes on. Bucky's way too enthusiastic about the idea for him to put up more than a token protest. They're out the door a moment later and it's too late to change his mind.

* * *

"Alright, partner up." The instructor tells them. Steve's partner grins enthusiastically up at him.

"You're gonna have a hard time turning under my arm later," she tells him, gauging the height difference between them with a raised hand. "I might have to jump for it."

"I'll duck." He offers with a weak smile.

"Same footwork, with your partner. One and two, and rock step. Start with the music-"

Steve trips over his feet again and again. He feels pink rising in his cheeks. Bucky, next to him, twirls a pretty brunette and leads her through several basic steps. She giggles.

Steve tries bending his knees at the advice of his partner - a short curly-haired girl with thick glasses. It helps, though he still stumps awkwardly through the movements.

Bucky may not have consciously remembered any dance steps when they arrived, but by the end of the lesson, he's sweeping his partner across the floor with expert Lindy Hop, and it's clear his body remembers. Steve might be a little envious of his ease and grace, but he's too happy to see Bucky unselfconsciously enjoying himself for once to really let it bother him.

Besides, Steve has his own little following to contend with. He's tall and good looking and several of the girls find his awkward attempts at leading to be absolutely precious, so he's too busy trying desperately to remember the steps he just learned to worry about what Bucky is up to for most of the evening.  
His dance partners all pat him on the arm and tell him he's doing great whenever he tries to apologize for his ineptitude.

Steve tries to escape after a couple of songs, but he's constantly being approached by girls asking him to dance. While he'd much rather slink off and occupy a chair, he can't think of a polite way to refuse, so he barely leaves the floor all night.  
He soon finds himself extremely grateful for his enhanced endurance, because he can't even get to the drinking fountain without someone expectantly approaching him anymore.

Several songs in, he has to admit he's actually enjoying himself, even if he's barely keeping the beat.

* * *

They go out afterwards with several of the 'regulars', and Steve eats an entire pizza by himself, on top of a few slices of the one the others got to share. He's got a hungry metabolism to feed. Bucky inhales a chocolate milkshake.

The group talks about anything and everything, and while neither of the two super-soldiers really understand all of the references made, they find themselves falling easily into the conversation. There's been no sign of anyone recognizing them, and Steve finds himself more relieved by the lack of celebrity than he'd expected. It's nice to just be people sometimes.

He slips up a half hour later, as they're ordering more milkshakes for the table, and mentions something about his mother "back in '33". He flinches and waits for the gasp of realization, the frenzy and unwanted adulations, but nobody really bats an eye.

At first he thinks nobody heard, but then Tabitha, the girl he first danced with, asks about life in the Great Depression (as history has dubbed it), and that's when he realizes they've known all along.

* * *

"I was gonna ask." Kirsten, a tall slim girl with cropped blonde hair, tells him, noticing his expression. "But I figured you guys probably would've mentioned it if you wanted to talk about it."

Toby, her boyfriend, nods and slips an arm around her shoulder as she leans into his side. "I saw the whole thing with SHIELD and stuff on youtube last summer. I get where you're comin' from. ...My uncle was in Afghanistan for a couple'a years, and he doesn't like to talk about it either."

"I know a guy he might want to talk to, actually." Steve says brightly, fishing for a business card in his wallet. Sam's support group always has room for one more.

"Sam's a pro." Bucky agrees, nodding. "Kept my head in one piece when I got back, that's for sure."

"Cap had a therapist?" Tabitha asks around her straw. She's still trying to find a 'hilarious meme', whatever that is, on her phone to show them. Something about artificial limbs.

"Holy shit, you're Captain America?!" Navin - all dark hair, elastic features, and sarcasm- stage whispers loudly, before anyone can answer. He makes a huge show of an exaggerated shocked face for Steve's benefit, daintily bringing a hand up to his mouth like a southern belle out of a movie, then fakes a swoon.

"You're a smart-ass, kid." Bucky tells him. "I like you." Navin holds his hand up for a high-five. Bucky enthusiastically complies.

"Better watch out, Cap." Navin grins, tossing an arm around Bucky's shoulder, "I'mma steal your man if you're not careful."

Steve glances up, business card in hand. "He's not -"

"-I'm just a piece'a meat to you guys, aren't I?" Bucky interrupts with a dramatic sigh, but he's trying too hard to keep a straight face. Steve makes a mental note that his friend's been spending waaay too much time with Tony and it's starting to show.

"If we're divvying up the hot guys, I want in!" Tabitha pipes up, grabbing Bucky's hand, the left one, over the table-top and hooking her other arm through Steve's. Bucky almost twitches at the touch, but only for a moment. He's having too good a time to let old hang-ups stop him now.

Tabitha turns to bat her eyelashes at Steve. "What parts do I get to keep?"

Steve turns bright red, and Bucky absolutely loses it, shaking with laughter into the table-top.

"God, Steve, your face!"

"Sold!" Tabitha declares, and the others dissolve into helpless laughter right along with him.

* * *

"So,you're coming back next week, right?" Kirsten asks as they gather their coats and clear the booth.

"Yes" Bucky says immediately.  
"I don't know." Steve says at the same time.

"So… maybe?" Kirsten says hopefully, settling her little vinyl purse over her shoulder. Steve's gotten the strong impression that she likes to bring new people into the fold.

He glances at Bucky, who's more relaxed than he's been in months, and looks genuinely happy. Steve knows full well that Bucky won't go without him. There's really not much of a choice to be made with that in mind.

"I mean, we're busy a lot… but we'll try." Steve tells her. Maybe he can hide behind a sketchbook or something next time...

Bucky's face lights up, and he know he's made the right decision.

* * *

**_After all that dark and/or heavy content for the last few chapters, I thought we could all use something lighter. ... Before we plunge back into darkness :D_ **


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

_**Author's note: I hope you all enjoyed your happy chapter, because now we're going back into the dark. (For those of you who really loved the last chapter... um... sorry? :D)** _

* * *

In the darkened living room, Bucky is making a low, quiet whining sound, like a wounded animal. He's grateful that no one else is home to hear him.  
He wants to push the laptop away - to throw it across the room really- but he can't stop staring at the screen.

This was a mistake. He should not have gone digging through the past.  
He thought he was ready to see it.

He wasn't.

* * *

 _"_ _Mrs. Winifred Barnes copes with yet another tragedy in a long line of misfortune"_ The headline reads. A photograph of a worn-faced woman with thick dark hair, tinged grey, fills the top of the page. She looks tired and resigned. He almost recognizes her. She's older than he expected, but then he was away from her a full 2 years before he 'died'...  
A lot changes in a few years.

_"Mrs. Barnes today accepted two American flags in honor of America's fallen heroes: her son James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes, (age 28) and family friend, Steven Grant Rogers, (age 27, also known as Captain America). Both young men were killed in service to their country overseas this past year._   
_Mr. George Barnes, (father of James Barnes and late husband of Mrs. Barnes) and the couple's eldest son, Sgt. Timothy Barnes, were both also killed in action in 1939 and 1930, respectively._

_Captain Rogers has no known surviving family members, but Mrs. Barnes says he was often a fixture of the small Brooklyn, NY apartment where she raised her two sons. She considers him one of her own. Mrs. Barnes displayed remarkable courage and insight when we visited her family home earlier this week._

_"The boys were inseparable from the day they met." Mrs. Barnes tells us, over coffee. Her home is neat and comfortable, and filled with little mementos of her family. She shows us a photograph of her son and Rogers as children. The bond between them is already evident._

_"Steven's parents were hard up from the beginning, and his dad passed away young, poor thing. He was over here all the time with my James - just the sweetest little boy I ever met. He was so polite. Steven was always sick, I remember, but he never let it slow him down, even when it was bad. I barely recognized him when he grew up all of a sudden, but he still had that same sweet face. He was always that kind little boy underneath, I think." She says with utter conviction.  
_ " _And my James… he was such a good boy. He looked after the house, worked so hard and helped me anyway he could. He was working 3 jobs putting food on the table after his father passed, but he never complained. He was just everybody's guardian angel…"  
_ _She pauses here, overcome with emotion.  
_ " _I... I just… I can't believe they're both gone." She tells us, holding a framed photograph of her son to her heart._

The two photos appear just below. One is a miniature version of himself, arm slung around a scarecrow wearing Steve's face. They're both beaming. The other is his service photo; the same one kept in HYDRA's Winter Soldier file. He keeps scrolling, feeling sick.

" _The only thing that makes it easier for me, " Mrs. Barnes tells us, "is that they went together. That's just how they've always done things. For one of those boys to have to come back… to live without the other… I just can't imagine it."_

He closes the article window and stares blankly at the empty browser. He isn't sure what to do with himself now. It would almost be better if he'd died that day, for good and all. At least it would have meant something.

There's more to the article, something about a memorial service, and posthumous medals, but Bucky doesn't care about any of that. His throat is thick and tight, and he needs a moment to breathe.

* * *

Later that evening, when Steve gets home, Bucky meets him at the door, and pulls him tightly into a silent hug. He doesn't say a word; just stands there with his head on Steve's shoulder.

"You… ok?" Steve shifts to push the door behind him closed with his foot.  
"No." Bucky says quietly.  
"You want to talk about it?"  
"No." -into his shoulder.  
"Ok."  
He stands there, leaning against the door, arms around Bucky's shoulders, Bucky's face buried in his shoulder, for he doesn't know how long. The sun sinks over the city skyline outside and long shadows drift over the floor. Once or twice he thinks he feels moisture through his shirt sleeve, but he says nothing.

Later, he looks at the browser history on his laptop. He knows it's a bit of an invasion of privacy, but he feels justified for Bucky's own sake. Then he understands.  
There aren't really words for this to begin with, much less ones that Bucky would still remember. He understands a little too well, when he too feels the grief in his throat and has to close the computer and look away.

Sometimes the past is better left in the past.

* * *

_**Author's note: … I made myself sad.** _

__


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

_**A/N: This is actually one of my favorite chapters that I've ever written, but especially my favorite in this story. It also happens to be one of the most emotionally-gut-punching ones. Enjoy.** _

* * *

 

"I'm sorry…"

It's nearly dark. Hardly anyone comes out to this cemetery anymore. The last burial here was over 30 years ago. He's alone with three worn slabs of stone.  
The last hints of sunlight are just fading into long purple shadows over the ground. If not for the city's lights, he imagines the stars would be emerging soon.

"First it was Tim, then Dad... then me…" He scrubs a hand roughly over his face, hearing his own voice breaking. "You just couldn't catch a break, could you?"  
The wind picks up and he thinks it may rain soon. He doesn't much care if it does.  
"Worst part is, I don't even remember your face anymore. I don't remember what your voice sounded like… what color your eyes were. You're just… a blur. ...And you damned well deserved better than that."

He kneels down in front of the stone, setting a couple of envelopes and a handful of lilies over the weathered plaque. They half cover the faded words.  _Loving Wife and Mother_  still shows dimly in the dying light.  
"Steve drew somethin' for you." He says softly, leaning back on his heels. "I don't know what it is, he didn't show me." He swallows the lump in his throat. "And...I found a picture of us from when I was still… me. Before I … before I left. Thought you might wanna have it."  
It's only a Xerox copy from an old history book, back when people outside of museums still cared about Bucky Barnes. It's nothing, and he knows it.  
He feels stupid talking to the air as if this woman he no longer knows will somehow hear, but he knows Sam would approve. That keeps him talking.  
"It's dumb… I remember you always liked lilies, but I couldn't'a said what your name was to save my life." He sniffles loudly, rubbing his sleeve across his face. "I feel like I just lost somebody, but I can't remember who… and you've been dead for 50-some years." He sinks back against the cool ground as the first drops begin to fall, head in his hands. "It's the stupidest thing." He says around the tears.

* * *

He takes the long way back the borrowed car. Walks the dark streets like he never left them, though everything has changed since he saw them last. He finds himself standing in front of the dirty old shell of what had once been a dirty old apartment building.  
Had once been home.

He counts the windows, ignoring the broken glass and missing panes.  
Three across, two down. That had been his bedroom once. Now it is a burned out ruin.

He turns and keeps walking.

* * *

Steve is waiting for him at the car. He's paid his own silent respects to his parents many times. There's little new for him to say to them these days.

One look at Bucky's face tells him not to ask. They climb in in silence. The radio music feels garish and unwelcome, so he switches it off. Bucky curls into himself in the seat, fixated on a random spot on the dashboard.  
Steve drives. They don't talk.

* * *

_**I did warn you it would be a little dark.  
** _ _**Next chapter should be less heavy.** _


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

"You sure you don't just want a new one?" Tony asks conversationally, leaning his hip into a stainless steel counter as he snaps off his sterile gloves. He's just finished making a few routine upgrades and repairs on Bucky's arm, and he's not sure why he hasn't just installed a new Stark model instead. "I can make it look just like the real thing, y'know. Think about that for a sec. No more long-sleeves in July for you. ...No more looking like a biker-rally reject all the time-" Tony nods to the fingerless glove that Bucky's strapping back into place on his left hand.

"I thought I did want one, at first." Bucky shrugs, flexing the artificial fingers experimentally. The nicked metal whirrs and responds beautifully. He rolls this left shoulder, feeling the components shift smoothly underneath. "But I talked to Wilson about it. He thinks I'll still have issues even if I take the stupid thing off, so I might as well try living with it first-"

Tony abruptly flicks a quarter at his head and he snatches it neatly out of the air without looking; twirling it between the whirring fingers before smoothly pocketing it with a wicked grin. He knows it's a test and he's meant to return it, but he can't help antagonizing Tony-the-smart-ass Stark now and again.

"I'm puttin' that on your bill, Tin Man." Tony tells him from under raised eyebrows.  
They both know Tony could honestly care less about money in any amount less than half a million dollars, but Bucky's going to return it anyway. He's no thief, no matter what else he's done.

"I  _was_  thinking, though…" Bucky continues, fidgeting with the coin in his pocket. "I'm not real crazy about the paint-job... It's kind of… Soviet-HYDRA-Assasin…-y." Tony raises an eyebrow at the description. "Think you could help me out?"

"What, you want like a sleeve tattoo on that thing? Maybe an anchor and pin-up girl?" Tony's grinning. "I think you want to ask Captain Boyscout on that one, Buckster, he's the artist of the group. Maybe he can draw you a little 'I heart Cap' to go on there someplace?"

"Cute. You're hilarious, Stark.  _Hilarious._  No, I just want a better symbol than this bullshit." He gestures at the red star, still shining like a brand on his left shoulder. "I was kinda thinking... paint the star white, maybe on blue… have some red and white stripes around it…" He trails off, a little embarrassed. "Y'know… more like-"

"You want Cap's shield." He's a little surprised to realize that Stark isn't ribbing him. There's something understanding in the way he says it. It's just a statement of fact.

"Yeah…" Bucky grins, a little nervously. "It's the best symbol I can think of." He shrugs. "I started following Steve when he was just a little punk with too much mouth and not enough to back it up. Kept right on followin' him when he was a big punk with plenty to back it up and some kinda death-wish. Might as well stick to what I know, right?"

Tony's quiet for a few moments, but his lopsided grin says he's on board.  
"God, you guys are adorable. Are all old people this adorable, or just you two geezers?"

Bucky shakes his head.  
"I swear to god, Tony - you make  _one more_ boyfriend crack-"

He knows Tony's not the only one making assumptions.  
Hell, Tony is probably just yanking his chain, because that's what Tony does. But it doesn't change the fact that everybody in this time seems to think that any guys who do stuff together, (besides maybe drinking beer and talking about getting laid),  _must_  be taking it from behind.

And what, exactly, is wrong with loving your best friend? They're practically brothers. Closer than brothers. Doesn't mean he wants to jump Steve's bones, for christ's sake.

"At ease Sgt. No-fun." Tony drops him a mock salute. He's practically bursting with contained laughter. Bucky rolls his eyes and gives up. "One paint-job comin' up. Sit back, get comfy, and let the magic happen. JARVIS, you heard the man, get me a template and some pretty colors."

* * *

Tony somehow manages to sneak a novelty magnet onto the arm while they wait for the paint to dry, without Bucky noticing until he goes to check the finished product.  
It's an ugly off-white rubber thing with a big red, white, and blue heart in the center. 'I <3 Captain America' is scrawled across it in a gaudy, horrible script-font that Bucky's sure would make Steve's inner artist sob for days.  _Blatant font abuse_ Steve would call it.

Bucky looks up at him under raised eyebrows.  
"...Tony."

"You like it?"

"The paint-job? Yeah, it's awesome. But the magnet…? Seriously?"

"Oh come on, Robocop. You leave me an opening like that and think I'm not gonna take it? I have been waiting for a chance to stick that sucker on your arm for like a week and a half."

"You're a dick, Stark." Bucky can't quite keep a straight face. He has to admit, it's a pretty good prank, and for once he didn't have to supress the urge to crush someone's throat in his hand after said prank. Tony can be taught, apparently.  
He feels his mouth twisting into a reluctant grin.

"Awww, I got a real smile out of the Grouchy Soldier! JARVIS, Instagram that for me, this is a historic moment."

Bucky has the quarter out of his pocket in one instant and flicks it at Tony's head the next. He's gratified to see Stark duck, completely failing to catch the coin as it sails past. JARVIS manages to catch it in the photo, automatically uploading it before Tony can rally the presence of mind to tell him to stop.

"Such a dick." Bucky repeats, but he can't keep his lips from twitching up around the edges, no matter how hard he tries.

* * *

**_Author's Note: I think we're nearing the end of this one, though there will probably be at least one more story in the works after this is done._ **

**_Also, as promised, I hope you enjoyed your something lighter :)_ **

 

_**This story is on temporary hiatus, but I do intend to finish it one of these days.** _


End file.
